Kiora

Kiora groggily opens her eyes. Her limbs ache deeply, and her chest tightens with confused fear. She pushes herself up and tries to process the sight before her.

Climbing up onto the courtyard are men and lots of them.

"The doors!" the sculptor shouts. Priestesses run toward the stone doors and start pushing them shut. The men race across the courtyard, trampling all the candles that were left there from their morning prayers. As they reach the closing doors, they push back. Some slide in through the gap still there.

Kiora screams as they wrap their arms around the priestesses before violently throwing them to the floor. With them out of the way, the rest of the men open the doors back up with ease. Kiora rushes to her sisters and helps them up. Quickly, she pulls them away as the men continue to burst into the hall.

They wear thick white coats with furs around their hoods. Over their eyes are large, dark, circular goggles. Around their mouths and noses are strange, black masks with pipes leading into their coats. Thick, leathery harnesses surround their waists, and legs and go up their chests and over their shoulders. Metal tools hang from various parts of the kit. On their huge leather boots are metal spikes. Their hands are covered in thick, fur-lined gloves.

Kiora gulps and her legs wobble as she takes it all in. Her sisters tremble beside her and they let out disturbed cries of shock. Kiora wraps her arms around two of her nearest sisters and pulls them into her protectively, not taking her eyes off the invaders.

One invader steps out from the protection of the others. Kiora flinches and she stumbles back with her sisters.

The sculptor steps forward, her teeth gritted and her eyes burning with rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asks, her voice strong, "who dares trespass in our sacred halls? Leave. Now."

Upon hearing her words, the men raise guns which had been hanging from their backs. Kiora gasps, and steps in front of her sisters, her arms stretched out to keep them behind her. The sculptor steps forward, her hands out, trying to calm them.

Kiora stares at the cold, harsh, black metal of the weapons. She watches as they hold their heavily gloved fingers over the triggers.

She had seen many guns during her travels across the realms. In her two-hundred and fifty years, she had seen the second realm go from barely functioning pistols to muskets, to now, where they have all sorts of strange firepower at their disposal. As she stares down the barrel, she wonders what horror these weapons could do. How many deadly little bullets could it hurl at her and her sisters? What damage would they do to their icy bodies?

Though the priestesses don't have the vital organs of humans, they can still be hurt. They can still die.

Kiora gulps and licks her dry lips.

"Calm down," the sculptor says, still holding out her hands. "Why are you here?" she asks again.

The man who stepped forward earlier raises his hands and gestures for their weapons to be lowered. Then, he pulls down his hood and removes his goggles and mask.

Kiora frowns. His face looks familiar though she can't place how. His skin is tanned. His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold. Ice tinges his scraggly brown beard and his lips are cracked and dry. Brown, messy hair is loosely tied into a bun and in the low light of the temple, Kiora can see a sheen of grease covering it.

His dull blue eyes fall on Kiora's, and he smiles calmly.

"Her," he says and makes a gesture to his men.

Kiora lets out a shocked squeal as his men move toward her. Just as they are about to reach her, the sculptor steps between them in a blur of white.

There is a flash and a nasty crunching sound as one of the men swings around his weapon and slams the butt of the gun into her cheek. Kiora screams as the sculptor clatters to the ground. Immediately, Kiora crouches down and tries to help. The sculptor groans and moves slowly, her limbs shaking.

"Sculptor, are you okay?" Kiora asks with a shaking voice as she helps her sister. As the sculptor turns her face, Kiora gasps in horror. Cracks like shattered ice cover her cheek and spread up to her forehead and down to her chin.

Before Kiora can help the sculptor up, the man's huge hands are wrapping around her upper arms and he drags her away roughly. Kiora screams and kicks out weakly. Her feet collide with one of the men's chests. He feels nothing, his coat far too thick.

"Enough!" a voice booms throughout the hall. Kiora cries out in relief as the High Priestess storms in, her violet eyes glowing with rage.

"Get your hands off my priestess at once!" she shouts, her voice thundering around the hall. The walls tremble and the room darkens, matching her fury. Tentatively, Kiora is dropped. She falls to the ground heavily. Quickly, she scrambles away from them and back to the sculptor.

Kiora gently takes her sister and helps her up. The sculptor stumbles to her feet and leans into Kiora's protective embrace.

The man turns to the High Priestess. When he speaks, his voice is horribly, cruelly calm.

"We are taking your priestess," he simply says.

Tears sting Kiora's eyes and she gasps in horror.

"You most certainly are not," the High Priestess says and comes to stand in between Kiora and the man. "How dare you come into our temple and try and steal away one of my priestesses," she hisses, her voice deep, and dangerous.

The man raises an eyebrow and smirks cockily.

"I am King Lucas, of Orthanya," he says. Kiora's eyes widen and she looks at the High Priestess. Her expression gives away nothing.

"I do not care who you are," she states, "you are not in Orthanya and we are not your citizens. Your authority means nothing here. Leave. Now," she warns.

The king chuckles. "I am taking her," he says, his eyes falling on Kiora.

That's when it suddenly occurs to her. She met him once. It must have been fifteen winters ago, at least. He was a boy, perhaps of only ten. She had found him during a storm. His tiny voice was useless against the wind and he screamed for his father to come and find him. His skin was so pale, and his lips were a horrible shade of purple. His tears were frozen to his cheeks and his nose was turning blue.

Kiora had taken his hand and guided him out of the storm and back to the camp where he was staying. He had looked up at her with complete, enchanted awe. Kiora had smiled gently at the boy, trying to reassure him that he was okay. Then, as his guards came for him, she had turned and left before he even had a chance to say thank you.

Now, those eyes look upon her again. That strange, enchanted awe is still there. But now the fear is gone; replaced with arrogance and cruelty.

Kiora shivers beneath his gaze and swallows a heavy lump in her throat. The sculptor squeezes her hand reassuringly. The High Priestess turns to Kiora and their eyes meet. Her expression is grim. Kiora's breathing quickens as panic starts to consume her.

The High Priestess turns back to the King. "You will not be taking my priestess," she says, her voice scarily calm. "I forbid it. She belongs to Winter. Not to you. She is not an object you can just claim and steal for yourself."

"For myself? I wish," he chuckles. "No, your priestess is not for me."

"Then what is your business here?" Kiora asks, stepping forward. Her hands ball into tight, shaking fists as anger starts to replace her panic.

"Are you aware of the fifth realm and the Dragon Emperor?" he asks.

"We are," the High Priestess replies, narrowing her eyes.

"Every decade, the emperor demands a gift in the form of a young bride to join his harem. Unfortunately, he has grown bored of our mortal women and is demanding a more unique and special prize. If I can find him such a prize, then our debt to him will be paid and we will no longer have to gift him anything further. We will be free from his demands," he says.

"And you want to gift one of my priestesses?" the High Priestess asks.

"Yes, I do," he says.

"No!" Kiora shouts, and she glares at him. Her fear completely dissipates and is replaced with white-hot anger. She takes another step forward and stares defiantly into his eyes.

"Neither I nor my sisters will be a prize paid for your debt," she tells him.

He sighs and his calm smile falls from his face. His eyes fall on hers and his expression is dangerous.

"You can either come willingly, or I take you by force and upon our exit, I may accidentally drop a few explosives around your precious temple," he threatens. As he finishes his sentence, the guards all lift their weapons once more. Kiora steps back.

The High Priestess takes Kiora's hand, and they share a look. The Priestesses aren't fighters. They have no weapons to wield to protect themselves. Their temple and its location were meant to be their defence against something like this from happening.

Outside the temple, the storm hits. The wind roars violently, thrashing against the mountain. Carried with the wind is thick, and blinding snow, blocking any views of the mountains beyond. Without the sunlight, the room darkens.

Kiora gulps, her mind spinning. She tries to think of some sort of solution or answer. Could they push the men back out into the courtyard? In such a powerful, blinding storm, they would soon grow confused and weary. With further advances from the priestesses, who will remain unfazed by the cold and howling winds, they could push the men right up to the ledge where they would fall to their deaths.

It wouldn't work. Kiora knows that. Too many of her sisters would be injured and too much of their temple destroyed before they would be able to force the invaders outside and onto the ledge.

Kiora closes her eyes, trying to stop the sting of tears.

"We don't have much time, Priestess. Make your decision."

Kiora opens her eyes and looks pleadingly at the High Priestess. Her eyes are bright with rage. It is a look that tells Kiora that she is willing to fight.

One of the men moves forward, raising the gun further. Kiora holds her breath and flinches. Her eyes find the King's once more. He stares intently at her and licks his lips. The action makes Kiora shudder and chills spread down her spine.

Her stomach churns, and she feels as though she is going to be physically sick. How could everything change so quickly? How could someone waltz into her home and just take her away?

She looks at her sisters. The sounds of their fearful whimpers fill the cold silence. Kiora softens for a moment and smiles reassuringly at them. A few smile back and straighten their postures. Despite their fear, rage glints in their eyes. She knows, that if she made the decision not to go and a fight broke out, her sisters would be more than willing to fight for her. Even if it meant their possible deaths.

Kiora turns back to the High Priestess.

What should I do? She thinks as though the High Priestess can hear her. She tries to give the high priestess a look that would convey her thoughts.

The High Priestess can only smile a soft and sad smile as their eyes meet. Somehow, Kiora knows what she is trying to convey.

It is your choice.

Kiora turns back to the men. Her eyes narrow on their twitching trigger fingers. The air becomes thick with tension as everyone waits for someone to make the first move. Kiora's throat dries as she tries to think of something.

Then, a movement catches her eyes. She turns as a priestess walks toward the High Priestess. Kiora recognises her as the sister that the sculptor had been working on. She stares at the scene with large, confused eyes. The High Priestess quickly moves to shield her.

Kiora then remembers what she had been told before the invaders had broken in.

She's the High Priestesses'.

Jealousy, burning and hateful, spreads through Kiora's body as realisation dawns on her. The feeling is so strong that it almost consumes her with its searing heat. It fills her mouth with a bitter taste and makes her body shake. Angry, hot tears gather in her eyes. So that is why she felt so strongly about this new priestess.

This new priestess is Kiora's replacement.

The High Priestess gulps, seeing the expression on Kiora's face. "Kiora," she whispers, her voice breaking.

Kiora turns away from her and balls her hands into such tight fists that her own nails begin to cut her skin.

Her mind spins, cloudy with confusion. If Winter has given the high priestess a new daughter, a replacement, does that mean Winter wants Kiora to go?

The feeling of betrayal sends deep, aching pains shooting through Kiora's body. Now, she can't stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. They are unnaturally hot against her skin. They almost feel as though they are burning her.

Kiora bites at the insides of her cheeks, trying to keep the sobs from escaping her. Her vision blurs from the tears.

Why would Winter abandon her? Why would Winter send her away?

She can't think of an answer. Clearly, however, this is Winter's plan and who is she to argue?

Kiora looks at her sisters once more. They cry now too. Despite their tears, their expressions are still determined. Kiora's chest warms, knowing that they would fight for her. But if winter desires it, then Kiora will go. Even if Winter doesn't want it, Kiora realises that she would not risk her sisters' lives or the destruction of the temple just for her.

So, she lets out a long breath and turns to the King. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. Never has speaking been so difficult.

"Very well, King," she begins and forces her voice not to tremble. "I shall come with you. But you shall face Winter's wrath for stealing me away. This I promise," she states. He shrugs off her comment and reaches forward to grab her.

"Let me say goodbye," Kiora gasps as he pulls her into him. He just laughs and gestures to one of his men.

The man makes strange movements with his hands. Dark green sparks start to fly around him. As he does so, the air grows heavy. The King's grip on her arm only tightens as Kiora tries to jump for the High Priestess. She pants, panic spreading through her once more as a strange green light surrounds them.

"You will suffer!" The High Priestess bellows. "Not now, but when you are old and this realm knows you for the fool king that you are. The Second Realm will pay for this. Winter will have her revenge and she won't stop until this realm is nothing but ice and snow!"

The King laughs and rolls his eyes before yanking Kiora roughly. Kiora tries to jump forward and reach out for the High Priestess.

"Kiora!" the High Priestess shouts, reaching out for her.

"Mother!" Kiora screams back and tries to reach out once more.

Their eyes meet, and both gazes are full of fear and pain. Then, Kiora's vision is consumed by a flash of dark green. She shouts out, the bright light burning her eyes. She brings up her arms, trying to protect them against the light.

The pressure against her body increases uncomfortably. It makes her bones feel heavy and dense. Her ears are consumed with loud, constant ringing and her stomach drops.

Then, the feeling disappears, and the air feels stiflingly hot. Kiora slowly brings her arms down and blinks rapidly against the bright light.

When she finally sees where she is, Kiora collapses to the ground. Her breath leaves her and her mouth dries. Her chest aches with the loss of her sisters and of Winter herself.

Around her, the gardens are vibrant with flowers and the trees are thick with green leaves. The summer sun beats down on her, making her skin almost burn. It stings, feeling like she is being poked by thousands of little needles.

Kiora feels her body weakening. Her limbs feel horribly light, as does her spinning head. Winter's magic drains away, leaving her forever.